The first time that Li Weizhen wakes from slumber, he's screaming, hysterical from the nightmares that give him no reprieve.
The imperial physicals slave to quell him from his madness, they even tie him down to his bed. Weizhen, body cold and sweating, cries and babbles about dark and terrible things. About blood oceans and sunless skies, about demon lords and endless wars, atrocities unimaginable by mortals.
For the Eagle has betrayed him. And his light, shattered, drives him to the edge.
And though he had seen this coming from the beginning, it does nothing to ease the pain that he feels.
The pain etches itself into eternity, haunting him for the long dregs of centuries and more, seeping into each and every dimension—
Weizhen is held down on his bed, a bitter brew ushered down his throat. The medicine eases him back into the lull of sleep, where nightmares greet him once more.
